Zen and the Art of Motherhood

Its Halloween night and as far as we can tell, a good time was had by all. Two out of four kids are happily in bed, still clutching their pumpkins. The other two are on their way home, no doubt in good spirits.

This Halloween was downright peaceful. Unlike the days of old, there was no mad rush to find costume pieces or arguments over who got what pumpkin. The older kids were self motivated and calm. That, I have to say, was kinda spooky.

Then in a flash, they were gone -- at parties or friends houses. They were all in such a hurry to get to their respective destinations we forgot the annual ritual of pictures, amidst the usual chorus of moans and groans, followed by hamming it up in front of the camera

We were left with uncharacteristic quiet. And the Little Stinker.  The scene was totally surreal.  Two parents, one child, tranquility.  It was just plain wrong.

So us two parents headed out with the little guy and went door to door in the neighborhood.  While it was great spending two-on-one time with our youngest, I kept flashing back to when the older kids were little.  The neighborhood was different then.  Mostly young parents like ourselves and tons of  kids.  We would head out in packs -- including the requisite scary monsters, pretty princesses and those adorable little kid giggles.

That was then.  Now, we're no longer young parents.  And most of the little kids are growing up, leaving an eerie silence to the streets.  So tonight -- while very cute and utterly enjoyable -- something was missing.  I mourned those days gone by, not to mention my younger ones.  I couldn't shake the feeling of being old and out of place.

That's not to say the evening was without its moments.  The Little Stinker was dressed up as James, his very favorite Thomas the Tank engine.  That in itself was priceless.  So were his feeble attempts at saying Trick or Treat instead of just taking the candy and running.

At first he was pretty shy, not yet clear on the whole concept.  But being the quick study that his is, he soon was bounding down the street, dashing ahead of us screaming, "Coming through!" on his way to the next house.  Once there, he'd methodically described a scene from some Island of Sodor adventure to the poor soul handing out the goods. Classic Little Stinker.

By the end of the evening, his pumpkin was so full, he enlisted his dad to carry it for him.  As for me, I carried James, eyes at half mast, all the while pleading, "One more house Mommy,  I LIKE CANDY!"